Ladybug
by Sideshow Cellophane 26
Summary: A series of murders have broken out in Bayport. But when the Hardys gain a lead to finding the culprit, they also lose a life. As Nancy is stuck in town due to severe weather, she finds that not only is there ANOTHER murderer loose, but something else that lurks in the night...Something that will make all three of the teenagers question the existence of the paranormal world.
1. Prologue - Charlotte Ann

**Just a thing I wanted to do, inspired by the song from the Nancy Drew game, _Ghost at Thornton Hall_, 'Ladybug Ladybug (Fly Away Home).' I only plan on using the song, not too much of the plot for the game (as it is just the song and this other case we're focusing on). WARNING: SPOILERS FOR THE COMPUTER GAME AHEAD DESPITE MY LAST SENTENCE:**

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**. *Whistles as we skip ahead anyway***

**. You were warned . . . So don't flame me with complaints! Well, don't flame me anyway!**

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**This was inspired by two things that have bothered me since playing the game (Yes. Yes I HAVE played Nancy Drew games recently. Don't judge me!): If Charlotte was just a hallucination, how did Nancy know what she looked like in that red masquerade ball gown and mask (...But this probably won't be used either way...)? Further more, how did she come up with the lyrics to that song (don't worry, you'll see it later on in this story.)? So, I wrote it as a _little more_ than a coincidence. Anyway, the Hardys' are wrapping up a case of their own at the same time . . . . **

** A little different from what I'm used to writing, so...read and review! :D This MIGHT turn into a three or four-shot if I feel like it. Maybe slightly AU, I haven't written for the Hardys (or put Nancy in a serious role...) in my past. **

**I OWN NOTHING! Sue me and you get a dead seahorse named Harold-Ralph and a nickel. **

* * *

><p>Joe's heart skipped a beat. He drew in a sharp intake of breath, didn't bother to breathe it back out.<p>

_It_ wasn't when they pulled the bodies out of the river.

When they unzipped those black body bags, and Sarah Carane's severed arm fell out onto the sandy beach. The rest of her was either duck-taped together (yes. Duck-taped) or butchered horribly and nastily. Although no one present would ever forget how her _eyeball,_ out of it's socket, was in that little clenched fist, unblinking and absolutely _dead_.

_It_ wasn't when they pulled out the files on the other cases, when they found the similarities between each victim.

Heck, _it_ wasn't even when they found out what elementary school those little kids went to, how none of the nine victims were even eight years old yet.

So was _it_ when a message went out to everybody that Charlotte Ann McGillis was missing just this afternoon? That was part of it. The Hardy's talked to her personally not two days earlier, asking her questions. She stated Jeb lived alone, and he told her so. He was lonely. This earned an uncomfortable glance between the teenage boys and urged her to go on. Charlotte only shrugged, saying, "He likes us children a lot. Especially Molly. But he's started talking to me more since Evelyn and Rosalie and Jane and the others went to Heaven. He's been talking to everyone else more too, but especially me and Molly," She looked up and smiled at them, "We all like to play with the ladybug nest that's by the slide on the playground! You wanna play with us?"

They both politely declined. Neither could help but notice her ladybug dress, ladybug raincoat, and frog boots.

This information, although plenty creepy, was not enough to move Jeb up on their list to number one suspect. Not enough evidence. "He's probably just a lonely guy," Nancy Drew had stated, "looking for some company. But I would definitely check into his background, if I were you guys . . . Anyway, I won't disturb you anymore than I have to. Good luck! I'm almost to the island," She was on a case to Thornton Hall, on Blackrock Island. Joe wasn't sure whether or not she told them where that was though, how close it was . . .

But no. It _was_ when they found out Jeb P. Rogate, a janitor in the elementary school, was the one who duck-taped those tiny little limbs together, stuffed them inside body bags, and dumped them into the river.

It _was_ when the Hardy boys made a u-turn in the middle of the road when they figured out the connections and put the clues together that led to this discovery. They had called the police.

It _was_ when they kicked down the front door of Jeb's home, only to discover he was gone. They saw the missing knives and lantern charger, unlocked back door, and saw the trail leading into the woods in the pitch-black back yard. They had split up then, to make it faster. Joe had heard voices a few minutes in, a grown man saying, "I'll protect you, you know. You're safe with me."

He heard a little girl's voice saying something incomprehensible in reply.

And then Jeb saying, "Sure, we can play. Let's play with the ladybugs."

And, absolutely and above all, _it_ was just three seconds ago. When Joe Hardy stumbled upon this clearing of sorts—literally speaking. He tripped over a root and was on the ground. That_ "it" _Joe felt was what made everything suddenly move in slow motion - except for the bubbling panic and horror of what was about to become, rising in his throat. As he fell, he had screamed at the first-grader standing right next to the murderer. They were hand-in-hand, standing in front of a running creek. Basked in the moonlight like a spotlight on stage, it seemed, with a circle of fire glinting within the knife clutched tightly in Jeb's free hand.

That "_**NO!**_" still rung clear in faint echoes all around them.

But after that, little Charlotte Ann had only just begun to turn around when Jeb had taken the machete knife and stabbed her. She screamed, tried to twist her arm out of his steel-like grip.

Joe scrambled up.

He stabbed again. This time, brought her to the ground.

Joe started shouting for Frank as he ran to her.

Jeb stabbed once more, just below the collarbone. He gave up and started running, dropping the knife at the spot.

Joe, caught between two paths, chose to take the one who was dying on the ground. She had been stabbed three times: once in the stomach, twice in the shoulder. One dangerously close to her neck. He was shocked she was even still breathing.

"Oh God," He said, scooping her up to carry to their car, "FRANK! SOMEBODY! HELP!"

She coughed up blood onto his blue shirt, mumbled something he could not hear.

"What was that?" He leaned down to her mouth.

She whispered, "Heh-he t-told meh . . ." she gulped, "wuh-we…wah-were gonna…p-p-play…w-with the l-la-ladybu-bugs." He could have sworn he heard betrayal in that voice over the pain of sputtering out those few words. She had trusted Jeb, and apparently with her_ life_. Why? Because she didn't know any better. And paid the ultimate price for it, too.

"It's okay. We're going to help you," He squeezed his eyes shut, and held her closer, standing up with her in his arms. Screw Frank and Jeb, she needed to get—

"Joe!" FINALLY, Frank bounded in, saw her. Gasped.

"Jeb ran that way," He motioned with his head. "She's almost gone, Fran—"

The child's eyes popped out of her head, and horrible sound emerged from her mouth, very much like a frog's croak. But it lasted longer. A gurgling sound, ugly and horrible. It was both human and supernatural, horrible and chilling to anyone who heard it. This was the death rattle, Joe realized, the final sound one makes when their soul is soon to be passed on.

And as both boys watched and Joe _felt_ in his arms in mute horror, her body went limp. Bright hazel eyes, like dying embers of a fire, still wide and staring into the stars. They watched as the life left those fire-like eyes, leaving them empty and hollow and void. Both boys took this differently. Frank took off into the woods where Joe had motioned.

Joe continued to hold this corpse, watch the reflection of the stars in her eyes. Soon enough, he found his legs working and heading back to the house, where police car lights could be seen and flashlights along the outskirts of the woods. A minute later, he handed her body over to an officer, describing the details of what the boys saw and did. A while after that, Frank and three officers came back with Jeb, who looked like he had fallen off a cliff. Bloodied lip and nose, both eyes black and one swelling shut, and one wrist that was twisted the wrong way.

The younger brother let a thin smile cross his face—he hadn't looked like that before running off. Nor had Frank's knuckles been bruised and bloody.

* * *

><p>Frank could not have been more distraught or shocked over Charlotte Ann's . . . well, there was no other word for it. Murder. Cruel and heartless, a sick pleasure to it from Jeb's side. The brothers had worked on murder cases, yes, but none with <em>little<em> children they had previously talked to two days prior_,_ none of whom they had watched the death of. And when that shock wore off, all of his energy and might went into remembering those preschoolers to first-graders—those kids who never lived their life—whose bodies had been hacked apart like Jeb enjoyed it…

And he _had_ enjoyed it.

With a burning rage, Frank left his brother and Charlotte and ran in the direction Joe had directed. It took, surprisingly, about five minutes for him to see the lantern in the darkness like a lighthouse over foggy seas. He tackled Jeb to the ground before the bastard could even turn around, they both heard a sickening _snap_ as Jeb landed on his wrist the wrong way and howled in agony, and then Frank threw the first punch. And then another.

And then another.

He didn't even hear the officers walking up to him.

And now both boys watched as Jeb was put into the back of the police car, giving them a nasty leer before the officer drove off and another came to take their statements.

* * *

><p><em>Two Days Later...<em>

Mrs. Hardy knocked on her youngest son's bedroom door, "Joe? Are you in there?"

"Yeah. Come in."

She opened the door, an unopened envelope in hand. "Mail call. Nancy Drew wrote—I think she might've finished up that case of hers, where was it again?"

He shrugged, seated on the bed. "All she told us was Thornton Hall, on Blackrock Island. Something about a missing bride. The grounds are haunted by the ghost of a woman who died in a fire."

The boys had not picked up a case, two days after capturing Jeb. Fenton Hardy wouldn't let them after seeing both of his sons faces, and solemnly explaining how this was the darkest any case would ever get. At least Jeb was brought to justice before he could harm another child again, unlike some others. However, when was it never a dark hour when a child was killed? Children, who have not even lived their lives? Jeb, Joe hoped, would get the death penalty for those ten kids in all. Fenton, unfortunately, had to leave for Hawaii on an important case earlier this morning, leaving them with the paperwork for Jeb's arrest. He had said something about smugglers before taking off.

One thing Joe felt above all, and it was painfully obvious between both boys (but especially him…), was guilt. Guilt for tripping, for not getting there sooner, for not _taking Charlotte Ann's words about Jeb seriously_. And it was eating the youngest brother alive.

"Well," she handed the letter over, "this is for both of you boys, wherever Frank is. He went out a while ago, didn't say where he was going."

Turns out Frank might just have a case after all, then. "Thanks, Mom."

She smiled, and left, shutting the door behind her. Joe smiled back, and opened the letter—he would leave it on the nightstand for his brother to read when he got back.

Along with the letter, there was a picture of the mansion in the nighttime. "Creepy…" He muttered to himself, and continued to read.

_Dear Frank and Joe Hardy,_

_Another case solved. My flight is actually supposed to be stopping in Bayport on my way home - so, if you guys aren't busy, I guess I'll see you soon! I'll share the details with you when I get there if you want, but for some reason I really wanted to share this one thing with you guys. The grounds were supposedly haunted, as you know, and all of us thought we saw __her__ ghost a little more than a few times over the course of my case! It turned out to be hallucinations from gases leaked out from a faulty radiator—and those gases proved to be dangerous in more ways than one! It started a fire inside the house, and four of us (myself included) barely escaped just as the staircase collapsed. No one was hurt thankfully, and everything was cleared up. But every time I saw the supposed "ghost," she sang a song that I've never listened to in a voice that I've never even HEARD of! Here's how it went:_

"_Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home._

"_Your house is on fire, and your children are gone_

"_All except one_

"_Sweet Charlotte Ann_

"_And she hid under the frying pan."_

_I still can't recognize the voice - it was a beautiful song, though, and beautifully sung. Do either one of you recognize it? Because I swear that it reminds me of you guys in some way!_

_Sincerely, _

_Nancy Drew_

Tears had already begun to sting the corners of his eyes; he wiped them away. Joe read those lyrics again, with shaky hands. He put the letter on the nightstand, bewildered and upset, when something flickered across his vision. He frowned and got up, looking around. The temperature dropped significantly.

And then he saw . . . . something. It was too foggy to make out any details. All he knew was that it…was…small…like a child. But the voice he heard, it was a _grown_ woman singing, "_Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home…"_

His eyes widened.

"_Your house is on fire…"_

Joe shook his head. _This wasn't real._

"_And your children are gone. All except one: sweet Charlotte Ann."_

He backed up against the wall. "No."

"_And she…hid under…the frying pan."_

With that, the indescribable mass of energy turned to look at Joe, who squeezed his eyes shut. Blocked memories flooded back in of Charlotte Ann—he, and his brother, were not believers in the supernatural. But this was too much to be considered a mere coincidence. Was it, though? Okay, more like a SERIOUS coincidence. Maybe it was a hallucination? Gas in the air, as Nancy had said? A trick of his stressed mind after Charlotte?_ But how could Nancy have known?_

_Oh GOD her blood on my shirt her blood on my shirt her blood ON MY SHIRT!_

He opened his eyes and looked back again.

She was now less than a foot away from his own body: Charlotte Ann. In a ladybug dress, raincoat, and frog boots, same as when they first met. "It's YOUR fault."

He shook his head. "No."

"All your fault!" Oh, damn that innocent, high-toned voice! "I'm DEAD because of you!"

"NO!" He hollered, "_It's not my fault!_ You—you're just a figment of my imagination."

That sneer on her face, although one of disgust, almost seemed to mend into her face as well as that adorable smile she once possessed in life did. Her form flickered, and she turned into the bloody corpse Joe held that night. "You could have saved me," Her voice now was like a deep growl, guttural and utterly _inhuman_. "But you didn't."

"What do you want from me?" He gulped, "Jeb—I tripped. I know. Frank and I should have interrogated Jeb harder when we were questioning him. But it was too late, by the time I got to you…" He shook his head, fresh tears in his eyes. "And I will _never_ forget, either. I would give-"

The door burst open, and Laura ran into the room. "My goodness gracious, Joe! What are you screaming about?! I heard you while I was doing laundry downstairs in the basement!"

He looked back at the spot where Charlotte Ann had once been. No traces . . . none but a single ladybug that was on the floor in front of him. Joe's gaze shot back up at his mother. "N-nothing, Mom. Sorry, I just tripped and fell is all. Talking to myself. Nancy's flight is coming in to town," He explained.

She rolled her eyes, a smile creeping up on her face now. "Well then. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Look," he forced a smile, "not even a scratch on me!"

"Okay..." She shrugged, and shivered. "Gosh, I guess I should turn up the heat in here, huh? It's freezing!" She shut the door behind her.

Joe, on the other hand, took his phone camera and snapped pictures of the bug on the ground, and where Charlotte once stood. Then, hastily, he opened the window and let the ladybug fly away.


	2. Arrival: Two Cases Collide

He put the printed pictures down. "And . . . You've checked the camera?"

"Yeah," The teenager bobbed his head up and down. "Four times already. Nothing suspicious."

He let out a deep breath. "Let me see it."

Joe took the device from the table, and put it in front of his brother's hand. "Frank, I—"

"Mom didn't see anything?"

He shook his head. Whatever Frank just came home from, the pictures didn't make his mood any better.

"She didn't _smell_ anything?"

"No, but it was freezing, so no gases in the vents. I was in that room all day, there was no way someone could have planted anything there without Mom, Aunt Gertrude and I seeing. You can ask Mom yourself—besides, she and Auntie would've been seeing things too. Now where have _you_ been? It's eight o'clock, this happened five hours ago. Did you get another case?"

"Uh, yeah. Um," He swallowed. Hard.

"Frank?"

"It just…isn't possible," He set the camera on the table, and got up to look around the basement. "Did Mom see the ladybug?"

"If she did, she didn't mention it. But it's on film, isn't it? Proof of its existence."

"Why did you let it go?"

"Be-because—it, it freaked me out, okay? It was just a ladybug, nothing supernatural about that…Technically."

He sat back down, and slowly turned his gaze to Joe, who had stopped pacing. "There's been a missing persons report."

His heart sank, seeing that gut-wrenching look in his older brother's eyes.

"Two boys from the same elementary school as the others. Steven Frost and Billy Richmond. Frost was reported missing last night by his frantic mother, she said he never came back from his friend's house just a few houses down the street."

Joe's head snapped up. "Why would he be alone?"

"She said she went over there to pick him up when she was supposed to at six, but they had already sent Billy back with him earlier. He was a year older than Steven, and their mother thought he could be trusted. To walk down the street, that is. They," He swallowed again, taking a deep breath. "They found Bill in the neighborhood park. Without his head. In a . . . Surrounded by ladybugs. Not many. Just a couple. Didn't think much of it 'till now…"

Joe's face turned to the ground. "And Steven?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"…You think it's a coincidence?"

"No. Absolutely not. Although the victims have mostly been girls in the past, I . . . I have no doubt in my mind," his voice grew heavy and soft and absolutely _hopeless_, "that he's going to . . . I don't _want_ to think that he'll…"

_Turn up in the lake._

As if on cue, Frank's cell began to ring.

"Who is it?" Joe asked, finally sitting next to him.

"It's the police." He answered, "Hello? . . . Christ…You're _absolutely certain_ it's him?...Yes, Steven . . . Okay. Anything that might tell us who Jeb was associates with? . . . Yeah? Kay, we'll get over there as soon as we can." He hung up. "Joe, we—we need to go."

"Frank?"

His brother had his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm…just…confused right now, okay?"

"Frank?"

" . . . He had no head."

"Frank?" A sharp edge of nervousness.

Joe jumped when his brother threw the cell across the room, where its rubber case bounced off the wall and onto the floor. The phone itself had hopefully survived, it would be needed to communicate with the police now.

It did not take a genius to know whose body they had found. The case wasn't over after all.

* * *

><p><em>Addison in 'Ghost of Thornton Hall': "Because I'm afraid if I let myself believe, I'll be opening a door that no one can close."<em>

* * *

><p>Little Molly Ferris looked up at her mother with wide eyes. "But why is the bad man after me, Mommy? I didn't do anything bad, did I?"<p>

Her mommy had gotten a letter in the mail this morning. After that, she called Molly's daddy, and that scared her. Mommy never looks like that, and her voice never has that scary tone in it. And after THAT, Daddy came home with a man in a _police uniform! _Gosh, Molly couldn't _wait_ to tell everybody at school! But, on the other hand, the officer mostly talked to her parents while she ate ice-cream Daddy bought on the way home - for _her! - _and that letter really did upset her parents deeply. Was that why there was a police car parked in their driveway? What was in the letter?

"No, sweetie." Megan leaned down to her six-year-old daughter's height. "This bad man. He's bad for a reason. Now off to Mommy and Daddy's room. Daddy's already in there, I'll be up after I brush my teeth."

"Okay, Mommy. I love you!"

She smiled, "I love you too, Molly. See you in a few minutes." Her heart broke at that smile on her young daughter's face. So beautiful . . . Jesus, how could anybody want to murder her? That perfect round face . . . Sick people, she decided, stalking bastards that knew Molly's every move.

The little girl ran upstairs as her mother went to the downstairs bathroom.

She opened the door, and saw her father passed out on the bed. A man was in the corner.

"Daddy?" Molly looked to her father for help.

"_Shhhh_," The stranger said, "Your daddy is sleeping."

"Are you the bad man?"

"In a manner of speaking." He came closer, and she ran to the opposite side of the room. "I'm _a_ bad man."

He shut the door.

* * *

><p>"So you're basically stuck here?" Frank asked into his phone.<p>

"Yeah," Came Nancy Drew's reply from the other end, "Until this bad weather and fog lifts up, you're definitely stuck with me."

"Well, do you have anywhere to stay?"

"No," she sighed. "I can't even get a taxi! There aren't any cars out, and the nearest hotel in my price range, from what I understand, is about a mile from where I'm standing. I'm _walking_ to wherever I need to go."

His voice flattened, "Nancy?"

"Yeah?"

"It's pouring down rain."

She smirked, "I know, Frank."

"Winds are strong," He added, "Umbrellas would be totally useless in this weather."

"Well, one less thing I have to carry, on the bright side…"

"Nancy?" There was a hint of amusement there…

"Yeah?"

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Oh, thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me!" Thunder boomed overhead; Frank could hear it through the phone.

"Yeah, I figured. See you soon!" He hung up.

What a set of coincidences—Frank and Joe were home alone. Fenton Hardy was off, and had been since the paperwork for Jeb's arrest was sent in and processed two days earlier, on an important case in Hawaii. Laura left just yesterday with their Aunt Gertrude to visit a sick relative, and said they wanted to stay the weekend at _least_ over there to meet up with several friends. And then, of course, it was summer vacation.

Of course.

He knocked on the bedroom door, "Hey, Joe? You still alive?"

"Yeah," came his muffled reply, "working on this case. Oh, hey, I just got a call from Mom—she wants to stay a little longer, if their weather over there's gonna have severe thunderstorms just like ours. She doesn't want to risk getting hit by a blinded truck or anything."

"Kay. I'm taking the car. Nancy's at the airport—think Mom or Aunt Gertrude would have a cow if she stayed here for a few days until the weather clears and her plane can leave?"

A pause. Joe opened the door, a half-smile-half-frown on his face. "Don't you think _Callie_ would kill you if she found out we were locked up in the house with a girl? Furthermore, the girl you absolutely KNOW your girlfriend hates?"

"Hey!" He swatted Joe's shoulder. "That was low, little brother. You know we can't get everyone else into this case—and that includes Callie, as much as I hate it."

He shrugged. They told their friends to stay away on this one—not just because of the murderer. Joe knew Frank wouldn't admit it even if he was tortured horribly, but the younger brother thought maybe, _just this once_, Frank was beginning to question a ghost's existence. Besides.

Callie HATED Nancy. And from what Joe has heard, Ned and Nancy haven't even seen each other in weeks. He wouldn't be too thrilled about this little flight and murder hang-up either, Joe bet. "Your funeral. She gonna help us with the murders?"

He shrugged. "I guess so. I don't want to put that on her, though…"

"Okay, lemme re-phrase that: you gonna _tell_ her about the murders? Jeb's accomplice? Dude, the guy's _still out there_. Why else would we drop all contact with our friends?"

"Joe," He warned.

"Well. Nancy _would_ deserve to know, Frank. _She_ was the one who heard the lyrics."

He scoffed. "There's no way she'll believe us. _I_ don't believe us!"

"The pictures that I took in my room," Joe added hopefully. "The ladybug, and that one with—"

"Okay, okay." He would _so_ rather not have _that_ etched in his memory right now. "You wanna come with me or not?"

"As much as I'd like to, I think I just found a connection between Jeb and another janitor that works at the elementary school—sides,' I hate riding backseat," He grinned. "You two have fun up front. See ya soon."

* * *

><p>"Okay, Bess," She laughed. "I'll be careful. Even though he <em>has<em> been caught."

"Doesn't matter," came the blonde's reply, "and I don't care. You be careful, Nancy! Or else I'll . . . Uh, Ned? Threat to keep Nancy away from psychopathic murderers please?"

"What? Oh. Nance, you had better be careful or else you'll suffer the wrath of, ah, the…very very angry Bess Marvin? Murderous boyfriend? Seriously, if something happens to you, then I would—oh-ho-ho my gosh, Nancy! I've never seen this shade of red on a person's face before! "

"What?!" Bess squealed, "Oh, you are in for it, Mister! Here she's about to deal with a—"

"Bess, he's _behind bars_. Found guilty on the spot, right Nance?"

"Yep," she replied, "and from everything that he had done, being caught like that, and even confessing? There was pretty much no need for a court jury."

"See? I'm sure Nance will be fine—"

"Doesn't matter, don't care! Nancy, call us when you get the latest news!"

"And stay safe! No mysteries missy, you just came back from one!"

"Can do!" She hung up and put the cell phone back into her pocket.

Thunder once again boomed overhead. Nancy glanced at the window just as lightning flashed (followed by another boom), then back down again. There was a man sitting across from her seat that did not stop staring at her face...

She cleared her throat, "Um, do you want something?"

He coughed, then picked up a magazine and started to read.

_. . . Okay then._

She observed that he did not have any luggage; a grey tee and jeans were all he had. The man was bald, and had a five o'clock shadow.

_Why wouldn't he have his luggage? We're not going anywhere…_

Most people had left for a hotel when they announced over the loudspeaker that all flights would be cancelled—with thunderstorms and this dreaded fog, Nancy doubted anyone would even _want_ to fly in this weather if they could. She looked down at the table and immediately picked up the newspaper.

"My gosh, _more_ murders?!"

"Yup," The man across from her said in a scruffy voice, "They've been pickin' off little children one by one." A few seconds passed before he started up again, "Police caught one ah' em' four days ago, but he had an accomplice. Killed one under police protection just two nights ago, too. The mother came back to find her husband unconscious and daughter stabbed to death, murderer nowhere to be found. No one knows how though, the place was surrounded by cops!"

_. . . A lot of information there, buddy!_

He turned back to his magazine as Nancy gaped. The Hardy boys were mentioned in this.

_THEY were the ones to help make that arrest! And oh. My. God. Joe walked right in on that murder! _

She started to shuffle through the pages, up until someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and stood, smiling. "Hey, Frank!"

"Hey, Nance!" Frank exclaimed, grinning. "Sorry for the wait, I—" His voice faltered when he saw the newspaper. "Oh. You've heard about…?"

She nodded. "Uh-huh. Why didn't you tell me there was _another_ murderer loose?"

He sighed, eying the people around them. "Can we talk about this later? Say," he eyed the bald guy and whispered to her, "somewhere private?" He then said casually, "Here, lemme help you with your bags."

They started to head out. "So, how're things going? Did you have much trouble with the flight?"

"Things are fine, but they _really_ started to panic when they caught sight of the clouds moving into town at a pretty scary pace. But, that was this morning." She giggled, "You should have seen some of the reactions when we landed, and it started _thundering_. First all of the flights were delayed, and finally cancelled around lunch."

"Yeah, no kidding. This is a total meltdown!"

They started to run to the car, as it was pouring buckets. "Do you know where a cheap hotel is?"

"Are you on a budget?"

"Yeah, a seriously cut down one. Most of my stuff was burned in that fire at Thornton Hall."

"Including cash?"

"No, but I had to spend most of it on plane tickets, life's essentials—a toothbrush, for instance—and new clothes so I wouldn't have to go around with black ash all over me."

He nodded, leading her to the parked car. "Uh-huh. That settles it then."

"What?" She stopped, letting him open the trunk.

"You're staying at the Hardy residence until your flight leaves." They shut the trunk, and hurried in. "And before you say anything, it isn't any trouble at all. We owe you for not staying in touch on your recent cases. My dad's on a case in Hawaii, and Mom and our aunt are with a friend until the weather clears—it's fine."

"But I can't just—"

"Look, if you wanna pay us back or something, do it by helping us with our case. Joe and I actually think you're a key part of this mystery."

"What? Really? _How?_"

"We'll need to show you something at the house to explain that."

"And that is..?"

He sighed. "You'll see."

"What?"

"Miss Super-Sleuth you won't stop asking until you get an answer, will you?"

"Nope."

"I would _really_ like to save it until we get to the house," He started the engine. "Or will you spontaneously combust by then?"

"Frank," She whined.

"Fine. I'll give you the name that little girl that was killed. The one Joe and I couldn't save? Charlotte _freaking_ Ann McGillis."

Nancy gasped.

He smiled grimly, "Yeah. Nancy," he pulled the car out of the parking lot and into the near-empty street, "we have a _lot_ to talk about."

* * *

><p>Joe got up and off the bed, stretching his shoulders. "Longest. Day. Ever." He wandered out of the room to the kitchen. "Need. Food. So. BADLY."<p>

_Might as well make Nancy a welcome plate too . . . Hm. What do you eat at three in the afternoon? Between lunch and dinner, that would be what, dunch? Linner?_

He opened the fridge, which, luckily, was stocked. "Thank you, Mom! Store-bought fruit plate it is!" He took the plate—full of apple, pineapple, cantaloupe, honey melon, blueberries, and strawberry slices—and put it on the dining room table, selecting a few of each and putting them on a napkin to bring upstairs.

Joe wasn't even able to _go_ upstairs.

The temperature dropped significantly, and he could see his breath. Reluctantly, _very_ reluctantly, he turned around and saw Charlotte Ann right across the room—she started walking towards him, slowly. With each step, a fresh stab wound appeared and bled. It leaked through the dress and onto the raincoat, and then her form flickered. She looked exactly like that corpse he held four nights ago.

He was frozen in place, a cliché yet fitting phrase for one who was in Joe's situation, totally unable to move, even to think. Breathing came quick and shallow, panicked. The fruit fell to the ground. And when the little girl stood not three feet away from him, those flaming ember eyes boring into his own, the ugliest sneer came upon her face again. Her voice was a low growl, like a _demon's_, "_You killed me_."

Joe swallowed. This was not the little girl he saw murdered. This was anything _but_ an innocent little girls' spirit—although he certainly did not believe in spirits, there were many doubts forming in his mind right now.

Her arm shot out and latched its bony fingers around his wrist, and tight.

. . . . Okay, so this wasn't a hallucination. Joe inhaled sharply, falling to his knees.

The thing that took the form of Charlotte Ann McGillis shot out its other arm, this time landing its index finger on his forehead. "_You killed me."_

As his face approached the floor, the rest of the world turned black.

* * *

><p><strong>WARNING: SPOILERS FOR THE COMPUTER GAME AHEAD (DESPITE WHAT I SAID LAST CHAPTER)<strong>

Inside the car, Frank changed the subject by asking Nancy about the latest case, at Thornton Hall. She was to the point of explaining pulling Clara out of the fire when they arrived at the house.

"So anyway," She said, both getting out of the car, "Clara admitted to hiding the will, afraid she would be thrown out of the family name forever if anyone found out. Really, that was the first time Jessalyn saw her mother clearly—they're planning on re-building over the estate, and turn it into a tourist hot-spot."

"Cool. But was Harper _really_ all that insane?"

"Pretty much, yeah. She disappeared for a few days, but they found her. She was the one who suggested they re-build the estate."

"Huh," Frank unlocked the trunk, but squeezed the key before opening it. "Oh, and Nancy?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful what you say around Joe—those lyrics you sent to us really had an effect on our case. Him especially."

She felt a pang of guilt—but how _could_ she have known? "If I had known that, Frank, I wouldn't have sent that letter to you guys. But what happened that night? Maybe I can help."

Another wispy sigh. He looked at her, back at the house, and then down. "Joe won't talk about it. _He's_ the one who found them in the forest that night—and although both of us saw it, _he's_ the one who held her when she died."

Nancy looked down as well.

"It's kind of an understatement to say that it took a toll on him. So yeah. You want any details, you're going to want to talk to him about it. But _please_ watch what you say. "

She nodded. "Okay. But when we get inside, I want you two to tell me everything else about this case that you can."

He nodded, opening the trunk and both getting her stuff. "Sure—don't you find it the least bit sad though, that you literally can't go anywhere without finding a mystery? I mean, you literally just flew in from that island, and here you are now!"

She shrugged. "Does the same thing happen to you and Joe?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Then technically, it has to happen to every detective!"

He laughed, "Yeah, guess you're right." Frank waited as Nancy got her bearings together, and led her to the front door. He fumbled with the keys, finally opening it. "Okay—welcome to our humble home, Miss Drew!"

They had entered the kitchen, and turned into the dining room.

She screamed when they saw Joe, his eyes wide open, lying on the floor.


	3. Suspects

**To Guest: Thanks for reviewing, they've been much appreciated. Glad to know I've fixed the summary, it took me a while before I finally found a way to word it the way I wanted to. ;) **

**And sorry for the long update. School and no sleep have been absolute brain killers and nap fuel. XP**

* * *

><p>"JOE!" Frank instantly ran to him, Nancy right behind him.<p>

He turned his head to look at them, and swallowed. "Hey, Nance."

"What the hell happened?!" She answered, "Are you alright?"

He sat up with their help, and stood. "Sure, sure."

"What happened, Joe?!" Frank looked around, "Did someone break in? No, something would probably be broken…" He caught sight of a purple bruise on Joe's arm, and rolled the sleeve up to reveal three finger-shaped bruises.

"If she was standing at a different angle, the other two fingers would have bruised me, too." He shook his head, blinking. "No one broke in. At least, not _technically_."

"Dammit Joe, tell us what the hell happened!"

He blinked, and stared Frank in the eyes. "She came back, Frank. Lil' girl…"

"Who?" Nancy asked.

The older brother looked at her, and led Joe to the dining room. "When—when was this?"

Frank had seen the pictures Joe took that first time. The ladybug that appeared on the ground after Charlotte Ann's appearance showed up on _camera film_, so both ruled out a hallucination as a solution. _This_ proved that theory. Unless it was a physical person dressed up this time around and some sort of hologram or something last time? His mind reeled.

"I don't know—what time is it?"

"Quarter till' four."

"Then around forty minutes ago. Here's," he laughed, "a welcome fruit-plate, Nance. "

"Because THAT'S what I care about right now," She half laughed, half groaned.

"What did she do?" Frank asked. "I mean, besides _this_," He held up the bruised arm. "That'll need some ice."

Nancy reluctantly nodded, "I'll go get some."

As they got settled, Joe explained what happened, and gladly accepted the icepack. "—And then I woke up. I dragged myself in here after, but she hit my head pretty hard...Or, whatever she did with that finger, it knocked me out cold…"

"Um," Nancy closed her eyes, trying to form the words in a nice way. "You…You saw the ghost of a little girl?"

"Right. You haven't heard _our_ side of the story yet. C'mon," Frank pointed to a staircase, "Joe and I need to show you something. I'll get your bags. Joe, can you walk okay?"

"I'd better, or that ghost is paying for my hospital bills!"

And so they led her upstairs to the guest bedroom to drop off her belongings, and then into Joe's bedroom and over to his desk.

"We printed these out after the first time Charlotte Ann made her little debut into our lives," Joe handed them to Nancy. "It was right after I opened your letter. That first one's of the ladybug that was there after my mother came in, and Charlotte disappeared . . . That one's just of the corner over here . . . Another ladybug picture . . . And that's one out of two pictures," His voice was soft, somewhat shaky from remembering that evening. "That's the best picture I got, the other one's blurry."

The picture was of the corner of the room, like the first one, but it had a grayish-silver mist on the left side of the frame. At least, _half_ of it was a mist. What looked like a seriously ticked off little girl was either molded into or behind it like a wall. Only the left side of her face and left arm shown—the one eye was narrowed and packed with as much hatred, more even, than any _innocent_ child could muster. Her mouth was curled downward in a snarl, and a fist was clenched.*

Nancy nodded gravely, and looked at the final picture. Joe was right, it was blurry. The mist and face were still there, only it seemed like more of her face was revealed. Maybe.

She handed them back to Joe. "Charlotte Ann McGillis, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"The ladybug song?"

"Yeah," Frank answered this time.

"And," she gulped, "I suppose you two want to know where I heard it?"

"You've already told me the basic run-through of your case, but no details on the song. Have a seat if you want to."

She sat on the bed. Joe sat next to her, while Frank preferred to stand.

"What do you hope to get from me telling you this?"

Joe shrugged, "Something that'll explain why there's a little ghost girl haunting us and blaming me for her death. You know, the basics."

So, Nancy told them about the hallucinations, and told them every detail she could of Miss Charlotte Thornton and the faulty radiator—but that _was_ still another case. She pointed this out.

"That may be," Joe said, playing with a pencil, "but it was all created by your subconscious mind. There might be something that gives us some kind of lead to this. Could anyone have sung it for you when you were younger, or…?"

She thought for a second, taking a deep breath. "I . . . My . . . My mother…_might_ have…"

Both boys inhaled sharply, and Frank paused in mid-step of pacing as the air grew heavy and awkward. They knew Nancy's mother passed away when she was younger. The case had nothing to do with her mother. They wanted to change the subject, especially Joe (who did NOT do awkward!), but every detail counted.

"Mom—Mom _might_ have sung it to me when I was a little girl. But when I say little, I-I mean _little-_little. I like to share the memories I have of Mom, but that doesn't mean I remember much from my toddler years."

Joe nodded, wrapping an arm around her in a side-hug. "It's okay. Why don't you call and ask your dad? I bet he'd remember. All we need is why you chose that song, or any song for that matter."

She reluctantly nodded. "Okay. I'll call him, and catch the others up."

"Others?"

"Bess and Ned," She grinned. "They know I'm here, guys."

"Do they know about Charlotte? Thornton, I mean, not the little girl that died. And the visions?"

She was slightly taken back by this: Nancy had called Bess and Ned a few times throughout her case, and several after. Of course she had told them! "Well, what about _your_ visions? Why would she blame _you_ for her death?"

Frank gave her a sharp look, and stopped pacing.

Joe inhaled sharply, and exhaled slowly. "It…It's because…I, ah, I walked in _before_ the murder took place. Not during. I tripped, tried to warn her. It-it was just too late," He looked down, voice so soft it could barely be heard. "I held her when she died, Nan. The last person who spoke to her, the last face she saw. I don't know why she still blames me for her death…"

She took his hand and squeezed when that usually smooth-flowing voice broke on 'face.' "Joe, you tried to warn her."

"You stayed behind to help her," Frank added, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You made sure she didn't die alone and scared."

"Yeah…But _she_ apparently doesn't think so."

"There's got to be a reasonable explanation for this!" Nancy exclaimed, "There's no such thing as ghosts!"

Both brothers were silent.

She laughed at them both, incredulous and unbelieving of what their downcast eyes implied. "Seriously guys?"

Joe shrugged. "Nan, you had to have seen it for yourself. That, that _thing_ that just attacked me, it wasn't human. But it left me with this," he waved the arm, "and a splitting headache."

"Frank? Surely you..? I mean, have you seen her too?"

He looked at her and forced a chuckle. "You know me, Nance. I don't believe in any of that stuff for a second . . . maybe there _was_ some kind of gas or drug Joe was under, making her appear like what she was, when in reality Charlotte Ann was someone in a costume. But I still don't know what the heck to believe. Joe snapped pictures of a real ladybug, right where that thing was not a minute before. And then he caught those _other_ pictures on the same camera, when there was nothing there, and even _Mom_ said it was freezing in here."

"The camera might've been rigged!" She insisted.

"We already thought of that," Joe stated, putting the pencil on the nightstand. "Checked it out, but the physical proof was there."

"So what are you saying? That a little ghost girl is haunting you? Joe, you _aren't the cause of her death!_ Why _would_ she haunt you?!"

"Believe it or not, spirits…" Joe swallowed, and laughed at himself. "God, these words are actually coming out of my mouth. Spirits can latch onto something, or someone, when they die. I guess when Charlotte Ann died, and considering the circumstances…" He shrugged. "I've heard a lot about spirits who were murdered not being very nice."

Nancy nodded. Despite Charlotte Thornton being a hallucination the whole time, she still counted that as some sort of supernatural experience (at least, mentally)—it had certainly _felt_ like one! As close to experience as she would ever get, she had thought. She sighed, "So what can you do about it?"

He shrugged again. "Catching Jeb's homicidal friend is at the top of our To-Do list in more ways than one. There are too many innocent children dead to risk anything."

Frank added, "Time isn't on our side for sure. Things literally can't get any better from where we are until we have at least a suspect."

She smiled. "And I'll be more than happy to help in any way I can. Do you have any leads?"

Frank took a file from the desk, and handed it to her. "We have a few people in mind. Those are mostly just pictures and some background in—yeah." She had already opened it. "That guy, Alec Vemine, he was Jeb's child psychologist."

Nancy gave him a look.

"Jeb was classified as a Class A psycho when, for the sixth grade science fair, he brought in a dissected frog."

"And when we say dissected," Joe added, "we really mean that the frog's guts were everywhere on the table. The project was apparently to see if a frog had the same inner body system as a human's—he wanted to go with an actual human experiment, only he didn't have a subject."

"Joe…Not funny."

"What? It's the truth! The principal missed _that little detail_ in hiring a janitor to be around little kids…"

"Because the psychopath's file was nowhere to be found. Hacked into the system and erased everything, it took tons of paperwork just to find this much out. And I doubt he _really_ wanted to dissect a human, Joe. His biology teacher just wanted a project involving one of the inner body systems of humans."

"Moving on," Nancy said, turning to an older woman with long gray-white hair. "Who's she?"

"Jeb's mother, Anna," Frank answered. "We interrogated her two days ago. She admitted to freaking out and almost committing Jeb when he was just four years old, and she caught him playing _Operation_ with a dead bird and a sharp stone."

She nodded, "Wow. So this started when he was _little_-little. Was he ever committed to a ward?"

"Yeah, after a few months of therapy after the science fair, they knew they weren't getting anywhere. So, his mom agreed to send him. Graduated about three years before becoming a janitor at age twenty-one."

"What about the father?"

"Died in a car crash when Jeb was two. A drunk-driver T-Boned him just out of the city limits."

"Yikes."

"Yeah. But as far as safety goes, he's clean. Insanity doesn't run in the family . . . that we know of. Anyway, the rest of those pictures are of colleagues from the school or anyone who's even bothered to talk to him enough to be considered a friend. We've talked to most of them."

Joe shook his head. "None of them have any criminal records, and most are teachers from preschool to third grade. Which means girls with Masters Degrees that aren't that much older than hot-head over here," he nodded to his brother, smirking when Frank swatted him, "or really old women, or women with families. There're only, like, two male teachers there!"

Nancy nodded. "Typically, most male teachers are with older kids. Since we're talking about _little_ kids, they tend to feel more comfortable around females, like a mother."

He shrugged. "Either way, all of them are checked out and clean."

Frank stopped pacing, giving him an exaggerated look or horror. "That little Miss Cherry Richmond was checked out, alright…"

"Hey! She was flirting back!"

"She had a _ring_, Joe."

"It could've been a grandmother's or something!"

"Yeah, and her signature on the Master's Degree hanging on the wall could've been faked!"

"What?"

"The signature? From when she graduated? Her _maiden name_ is Elliot. Had you actually been looking anywhere but her _gorgeous_ and _beautiful_ face, you would've seen it!"

She laughed as his own face turned red.

"Nancy," Joe turned to her with a pillow in hand, "You may not want to stay. This will probably get ugly…"

"I still need to call my father and tell him about my flight and the case, anyway," She laughed. "Let me get out of the battle zone before you hurt someone with that thing!"

"Pillow fights are serious business between siblings and sleuths, my dear Miss Drew. Oh, and tell everyone I say hi."

"Same from me," Frank added, "but you might as well consider my brother's face here pillow-bound!"

"Will do!" She left just as the younger sibling threw the pillow at the other.

* * *

><p>*<strong>- When I wrote this description, I imagined Sayonara from "<em>The Ring<em>." In a gray-misty form.**


	4. Calls and Sighs

**Sorry for the long wait, finals came up and I was getting project after project. Stress equals writers block. Writers block equals staring at the screen in an odd daze, wondering why and how words appear when I press buttons. When words appear as I press buttons, it eventually hits me that I've got a paper due in some class and get to work at eleven at night. Writing the English paper equals ADD kicking in and writing multiple stories at once.**

**Writing multiple stories at once equals this chapter. You're very welcome. **

**Actually, it's almost been two months since Summer vacation started. I've been busy with volunteering at our aquarium and family matters. So sue me . . . **

* * *

><p>"No Dad, I'm perfectly fine off here. It's alright, just some bad weather . . . And a serial murderer . . ." She winced. "Sorry…"<p>

On the other line, Carson Drew sighed. "_Christ_, _Nancy…"_

"If it helps me any, Joe and Frank have been working on it for several weeks now, and we have suspects to question."

"_Nancy…_"

"Dad…"

"_I know about your case. The Jeb guy, the new murders? Nance, that is _beyond_ your usual waters…I don't want you there."_

"Dad, there's no other way around. The airline has shut down due to this severe storm, and they say it's only going to get worse."

"_You can't stay out of their way? Just this once? I know that there's gotta be somebody from the government on this. Too many bodies, too many families._"

"Being completely honest Dad, some bodies _were_ in other states. That means he's been moving down the coast. I think the Hardys are doing a better job at this than the police have so far. We have suspects. They're checking into it. We're doing a _good_ _job_ so far, Dad…"

There was a long pause. Under no circumstances would she leave this case, the brothers, or justice behind, and Carson knew this well.

Finally, he sighed. "_Stay safe. Please. Remember that song was one of your mother's favorites, next to the one she wrote on the piano. I love you."_

"I love you too."

With that, he hung up.

She sighed in relief, and continued to dial Bess and Ned.

* * *

><p>Callie spun her hair around on her finger, biting the bottom of her lip as it went to voicemail. Again. Without thinking, she left a message, which Frank warned her—<em>all of them<em>—not to. "Frank? I love you. I trust you. I _miss_ you. What kind of case could keep you away from your friends and family like this? Was it because of that girl you guys found? Frank," Her voice broke, along with the wall holding back the many tears. "Frank. Ten days. Not a word. I don't even know if you're in _town! Call_ me!"

She hung up and almost threw the damn thing across the room.

She called his and Joe's cells, she got nothing. She called the house phone, Laura picked up and told her the brothers weren't at home. Christ, when Callie tried to come over it was their mother that told her to turn around, that it wasn't _safe!_ She knew about the murders. She knew about the danger of being involved. But it was _her_ decision to help them! Not theirs, _hers!_

She sighed, hearing her mother call her down to help with making dinner.

She would give them one more night. But first thing tomorrow she was coming.

* * *

><p>"<em>Nancy, REALLY?!"<em>

"Hey, it isn't as if I'm _helpless_ here!"

Bess growled. Ned had left at that point, to the sweet relief of his girlfriend, so she wouldn't be the one to tell him. "_Nance, I can't even BELIEVE that you can't go anywhere without finding a case! More importantly, something that's pretty much broken Jack the Ripper's record! _Why_ on _Earth_ can't the police—or FBI, whoever—do it?"_

It was pretty hard to explain that. "Bess, I've _told_ you that the police are doing the best they can. But the Hardys have gotten farther than they have, and the murderer knows they're on his case. I want to _help_, Bess. Before anyone else is killed."

"_But_—"

"No buts. I can't get out of here if I wanted to. The storm has put everyone into hiding—no flights are taking off until it's passed."

Bess groaned.

"Tell Ned I love him, Bess. Just in case my reception is knocked out."

"Okay . . . But expect him to go all angry-boyfriend on you when he finds out."

"I'm calling him right after this, I promise."

"Okay…Well, stay safe!"

"You too!"

* * *

><p>Frank listened to Callie's message.<p>

He felt like throwing the phone across the room again. Instead, he sent her a text:

_Tell u everything I know. Come tomorrow around 1. We'll talk over lunch._

He clicked send. Enough was enough—he missed his friends. No matter how furious Callie would be that Nancy was here instead of her, she would have to accept that and either leave them alone or help. Knowing how stubborn she is, Frank could easily imagine that look in Callie's eyes she'd get when she found out he's letting Nancy help on the case and not her - she's shown signs of jealousy in the past, and this would make it only flare. He knew she would be clingy, and . . .

He sent another text.

_I'm not letting u get into any danger by being around me. I love u, but this case is different from everything else Joe & I have worked on. Don't come early. We'll b police dep._

Staring at the sent message, he realized how annoying auto correct is by completing the words he wanted to be short on purpose.

* * *

><p>Halls put his head in his hands. The new murders were <em>his<em> case now. As Sergeant Lumber marched away, the detective sighed and started on the paperwork.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

He knew pretty much the entire police department was already working on this top-priority case. And now it was his responsibility to get together evidence? As if nobody _else_ was doing their jobs. Even those outside the station—those teenage brothers, what was it? Hearty? Hardy? He didn't care if they were the _Farty_ brothers, they had the case before anyone else realized that the bodies weren't just from this state, and they were the ones to capture that psycho killer who would get the _chair_ along with his little psycho buddy.

And dammit, Detective D. T. Halls would make sure to watch both of them fry himself. But right now he needed that sick bastard—if the interrogating wasn't enough, that Rogate guy was answering in freaking riddles.

"_Why did you do it?" _

"_You'll find out." _

"_Who is killing those kids now?"_

"_A friend._"

"_Even if you don't give us anything NOW, the offer still stands: if you tell us who is killing those kids now, then you'll have a fair trial. A chance for getting off of this alive."_

Halls had made it a point to tell the man, no matter how disgusted he was that Lumber made this deal, that Rogate could plead insanity and be taken to a mental hospital instead of being fried.

"_It makes no difference to me WHAT you know_."

_Christ_, it was like talking to a _wall_. Dan picked up a profile picture of the creep—Jeb Rogate was a tall man—6.2 and skinny, and exactly what you'd expect to see as the culprit on a crime show. Short, light brown hair and filthy skin. He had major bags under those already sunken eyes—he couldn't tell what color they were.

He reminded Halls of a rat. Maybe even like that bug guy from _Men In Black_. A mix for sure.

_Okay. First things first: get statements from those Hardy kids. They know their stuff._

He definitely felt pity for the younger one, Joe. The one who had handed him Charlotte McGillis. Being an officer had certainly allowed Halls to see things that would never be forgotten so long as he lived, things that kept him up at night and worried his wife to no end. Charlotte had been added onto that list. So did most (all) of the other bodies he had seen murdered by that same psycho. The ones that had shown in this town, at least. It wasn't until a bit later in the case that they discovered that those missing from _this_ town had been found in different areas—four of the bodies had been uncovered in two different _states_. Three children had been found here before Rogate was arrested, one washed up along a beach in the north and two others even farther north. They were all found the same way, from cut up in bags or same incisions on certain body parts, or other things he couldn't think about right now. The bodies that had traveled up the current had obviously been in the water for a while. Nothing perverted, even—like they're killing for the sheer joy of it. Perhaps a cult?

_It's late. I should call Susan and Jeremy and say goodnight. He's always happy to talk. And Susan'll want an update on things._

He pulled out his phone to call his wife and son, almost put his thumb on the home number, then gazed back at crime scene photos.

Such innocence. Lost. Brutally, GOD so brutally. Christ, if he had lost _his_ son he'd raise hell like all of the other parents too.

He remembered the paparazzi giving the department hell at one crime scene here, too. You can always tell when they're new at the job or experienced. The first sign that a) the murder is brutal and b) a newbie has just been permanently traumatized is when they puke all over the place. One had thrown up, and then the poor guy the former had vomited onto threw up too. Officers had quickly told everyone to simply _go away_ before a freaking barforama started. Only a few if the newer guys had actually done so, as the more experienced leeches still tried to get their shots. At a fair distance away from the mess. Now, Halls could understand someone trying to do their job. But treating a dead child like that? Like a story to sell?

Media sickened him.

Dan Halls called his family to tell them he was pulling another late night. It was a possibility that Lumber wouldn't let him go for the rest of the friggin' _week_.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey-hey! Leave a review, it'll get me writing faster! Detective Dan Halls was not meant to have such an odd name, I was just messing with several different things in my head. :P <strong>


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